The Fourth Unforgivable
by sims
Summary: At the beginning of his fifth year, Harry is under no illusions; he knows it will challenging with Voldemort making attacks, a return to Quidditch and OWLs at the end of the year. But how do strange potions, a fanged boy, or the school play come into it?
1. Swing

****

The Fourth Unforgivable

Disclaimer: The characters and places present in this story were created by J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Huge thankyou to Gaia30 (Linz) who beta-ed/omega-ed this.

Harry was sitting in his room watching the seconds pass by (literally) on his clock. It dawned on him that perhaps he had a surplus of time on his hands. The Dursleys had for their part tried to keep him busy, but Uncle Vernon's car could only be washed a certain number of times, and the grass cut so short. Not to mention Dudley's frequent temper tantrums ("What do you mean there's nothing on TV? You don't pay for 500 channels and then find there's _nothing_ on TV!" shouted Uncle Vernon after one of Dudley's whinges. All credit to Uncle Vernon though, who was showing a heightened sense of resistance to Dudley's wails: it was two whole days before he bought the new cable subscription.)

Harry managed to work through his homework with efficiency Hermione would be proud of, and still have time enough to dwell on Voldemort's return to power. He resented being stuck in the Muggle world for six weeks each summer. That left him ignorant to everything happening in the Wizarding world, which he now considered his own. Even at Hogwarts, where they were sheltered from the attacks and various dangers, they were not sheltered from the truth.

He heaved a sigh. The small and flimsy links he shared with the Wizarding world while at No. 4 Privet Drive barely kept him happy. Some owls he received from Hermione and Ron, along with the books he'd battered in his re-reading (_Quidditch through the Ages_ and _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland _had both seen better days) were the only things between him and Muggle life.

His mind had settled into its usual pattern. He knew where it would lead him: to Hogwarts last year, to the Triwizard Tournament, to Cedric... Suddenly, he heard the excited hooting of Pig by his window. He got up and let the energetic owl in, then made several attempts to catch the flying ball of fluff before finally securing it in his hands. Attached was a note on rough parchment from Ron, the one he'd been waiting for:

__

Harry,

Dad's finally sorted everything out with Dumbledore and you can come to stay for the final week of the holidays! He had some funny requests first though. A man came here with a dog and let it go round our house; it sniffed about the house for about an hour, and then he gave the go-ahead for your visit. Hermione will be here in a couple of days, so sort it out with the Muggles, and we'll come to collect you on Sunday.

Ron

P.S. Don't worry, we'll bring a car this time. Dad says it's best; going by Floo might cause 'traumatic memories' to resurface in your relatives minds'. Don't ask me, he's gone all 'amateur psychiatrist' because of a book Ginny bought him for his birthday.

P.P.S. Hermione's been made a prefect. 

Harry smiled. Even though he knew the invitation was coming, it still gave him an oddly giddy feeling to be holding it. He scribbled a reply to Ron without even asking permission, and sent it back with Pig before going downstairs to let the Dursleys know. He toyed briefly with the idea of mentioning the resurrection of a certain Dark Lord as leverage. No doubt, the Dursleys would assume him to be on Voldemort's side. With a murderer for a Godfather, evil connections were to be expected. He decided it was not needed since the Dursleys would jump, roll over, or fetch at any opportunity to get rid of him anyway.

It was six o'clock, Sunday. Uncle Vernon was again donning his best suit, Aunt Petunia a frilly, vulgar ensemble and Dudley was no-where to be found (he had muttered something about homework, which was preposterous because the only kind of 'homework' Dudley ever did was torture Harry.) The Dursleys had boarded up the fireplace with maximum-strength metal sheets despite Harry's protests that the Weasleys were coming by car _anyway_, (although he had found it funny when the man in the DIY shop had viewed them oddly because Uncle Vernon kept asking whether or not the sheet could stand minor explosions over and over again.) 

Twenty minutes later there was a polite knock on the door (actually it was more of an incessant bang,) Aunt petunia slowly opened the door. A small rusty car had been parked in front of the Dursleys' driveway and Harry couldn't help but notice the swell of pride in Uncle Vernon's chest as it stood in comparison to his immaculate Mercedes. However, this was quick to disappear when he witnessed the large number of people and Harry's trunk all fit into it with ease.

***

A few days later, seated in the homey atmosphere of the Burrow, Harry wondered how he could ever have been unhappy. Hermione, slightly tanned from one of her family's European holidays (or so she said, Harry was trying to remember what the Bulgarian climate was like), was sitting across from him at the breakfast table and telling him the importance of securing some O.W.L.s. Her wording was suspiciously similar to that used by Aunt Petunia when she told Dudley about the GCSEs (away from Uncle Vernon, who would have frowned upon the attempt to change his son into a know-it-all.)

"So you see, Harry, in the end it's us who benefit from the exams," Hermione said, wrapping up her speech. Harry nodded solemnly into his porridge bowl before sharing a quick glance with Ron. Before Hermione could comment on this, a flurry of owls flew through the window. To everyone's surprise (and Ginny's annoyance) a letter was deposited into Ginny's pumpkin juice, splashing everyone nearby, before the owl swooped out without resting. A similar message was deposited in Mr. Weasley's lap, and the two quickly opened their messages. In what would have been a good synchronised-swimming act (had they been in a pool), both Ginny and Mr. Weasley paled at the contents of their notes, then shoved them haphazardly into their pockets. They then looked at each other with identical expressions.

"Arthur, dear, what is it?" Mrs. Weasley asked, peering anxiously over a copy of _Witch Weekly_ (_'European Festival of Arts in Magical Community Announced by Fudge'_.)

"Er, nothing," he replied in a tone that suggested it was definitely something. "We'll discuss it later." All further probing from Fred and George was dismissed. The twins managed to get over their curiosity long enough to ask Harry and Ron if they'd like to practice their Quidditch skills in a game of Quidriot. Harry remembered it was often used by Oliver Wood to warm up the Gryffindor House team. It was then that he realised what Oliver's leaving meant: the Gryffindor team was missing a keeper _and_ a captain.

Walking upstairs to fetch his broom, Harry turned to Ron. "Who d'you think will be the new Gryffindor keeper, now that Wood's graduated?" he asked.

Ron gave an animated shrug. "Dunno. Neville, maybe?"

***

Dumbledore stood in his circular office, looking at one of the portraits on his wall without really seeing it. War, for all its tactics and stratagem, was brutal. He had heard the glorified tales, the stories of amazing successes and wartime adventures, but through his knowing eyes and ears they added up to nothing more than wishful thinking and persuasive lies. Today's youth is tomorrow's defences, an opinion shared by many, but Dumbledore had not believed it himself. Now, he felt ashamed because a handful of his students were young without youth, and he was giving one more a responsibility that she shouldn't have to juggle. He looked down at his hands; age had left wrinkles running across them like rivers, marks and dents gained through time. A small bump on his third finger from all that writing, some small scars on his palm where he'd gripped his wand so hard it drove his nails into his skin. But in a way it was better. They had to be prepared, and it was his duty to get them ready. As Headmaster of the school, it was a duty he chose. 

He stepped onto the revolving staircase and was taken downstairs. He went over what he was to say as several suits of armour nodded their heads or bowed at his passing. The Hall they were meeting in was separate from most of the school building, for safety reasons, and he had to pass through wards to reach the entrance. It was smaller than the Great Hall by a fair amount, but would suffice as a meeting point for the members of the Order. Tapestries hung from the bare stone walls, and a fake window was framed by red velvet drapes. The window depicted a snowy scene, which would have been more convincing had it been winter. The members of the Order would be arriving soon, coming in order of those who knew the least, to those who knew a fair amount, so that when the meeting started officially they would be on level ground. Prior to the meeting, he had only given out details on a need-to-know basis. He knew the plans and arrangements he made would have to revert back to the old method. It was a little like the tiers of a cake: most people would be at the bottom level, the roles they played small but still keeping the other levels up. Others would go higher up in this mini hierarchy, depending on their level of knowledge. There was only one version of the entire plan, though, and it existed inside Dumbledore's mind where it swirled, bent, twisted, and repaired itself over time. He was on top of this cake; the plastic groom without a bride.

Slowly the hall filled (via a series of fireplaces in little curtained booths set up on one side of the hall), queries were answered, rumours were dispelled, and a series of events was settled on. Next he explained, with the aid of several, the various defences that had to be set up in people's homes, and the plans that had to be made. Then, the work they'd need to do in the field to gather resources was discussed. Finally, as the meeting drew to a close, he asked Sirius (among them as a dog, as some things couldn't be revealed to all) and Remus for a word on their work on locating Mundungus Fletcher. As the final guest departed, Sirius transformed back into a man.

"I've looked everywhere. Either he's taken a liking to some remote corner of the world, or he just doesn't want to be found." Sirius said, rubbing his eyes to remove the sleep.

"You say you've looked everywhere?" Dumbledore asked. Sirius 'mm-hmmmed' while taking a bite out of a biscuit. Remus stood there between them, feeling somewhat neglected. Dumbledore turned to look at the polished wooden grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room, "Perhaps," he stated, "it is not a matter of where, but when." He turned to face them again.. Sirius was standing, eyebrows raised with rapt attention while Remus continued to stare at the timepiece, seeming oblivious to the world around him. "Remus, did your father leave you his time-turner?" asked Dumbledore.

Remus' head snapped back toward Dumbledore. "Yes."

Dumbledore smiled. "Good, then I can see you will have no problems in your extended search for Mr. Fletcher. Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Delacour is waiting in my office to sign a contract for the new school year." Before either Sirius or Remus could hold protest, he had walked out of the hall. 

Sirius looked at Remus. "Time-turner?" 

***

Remus was sitting in a deep armchair while Sirius paced the small length of red-carpeted floor in front of him. "Why did your father have a time-turner?" He asked suddenly. Remus could tell Sirius had been debating in his mind whether or not to ask. Remus took a sip of his tea before setting down his mug on a coaster. 

"He worked in antiquities."

"Oh," said Sirius, "What has that got do with having a time-turner?" he added.

"Well, if an artifact was lost in the present he would go back to a time when its whereabouts were still known and put a locating spell on it. Then, he'd come back to the present and use the spell to find it. Understand?"

"Vaguely. So, how are we going to find out _when_ Mundungus is?"

There was a pause as Remus thought about the task ahead. "Luck?"


	2. Hogwarts

****

The Fourth Unforgivable

Disclaimer: The characters and places present in this story were created by J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Huge thankyou to Gaia30 (Linz) who beta-ed/omega-ed this.

Harry sat between Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall, waiting for the Sorting to begin. The train journey had been uncharacteristically uneventful. Harry reasoned that this was because Malfoy was anxious not to confront them after the end of last year, when he and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, had wound up unconsciousand covered in hex marks in the train corridor_. _Now, awaiting the sorting, he couldn't help but feel a sort of foreboding. This year was going to be difficult, it went without saying, but now that he was here it seemed a lot more _real_. 

Professor McGonagall began reading out names. The jittery first years approached the hat with trepidation that Harry could remember with such clarity, it could have been just yesterday. Harry's eyes slowly skimmed over the professors seated, his eyes falling on the new Defence Against Dark Arts teacher. He couldn't help but notice how familiar she looked. He turned to Ron and was about to ask if he recognised her when Dumbledore stood up. A ripple of silence spread across the Hall.

"The beginning of another year." His eyes passed over the many faces with their eyes peering back at him. "You sit here today among fellow students, classmates, and above all, among friends. In this harried time it is important to be united. Unity is all I ask of you. To find friends where you have seen only foe; that is, perhaps, a skill you would do well to develop. My plea extends from the first years, who have yet to make firm relationships with their comrades, to the departing seventh years. I cannot stress how vital it is to build these bridges, to extend your hand in friendship now before the worst has come." There was a deep silence in the hall as Dumbledore paused. His words echoed in Harry's mind. _Find friends where you have only seen foe_. His gaze swept involuntarily towards the Slytherin table. 

"On a somewhat lighter note, I am pleased introduce you to our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Figg." Mrs. Figg gave a cursory nod as Harry's jaw dropped. That was _not_ Mrs. Figg, or at least, not the woman he remembered. She looked nothing like old Mrs. Figg from Privet Drive, the one with a strange affinity for cats and a cupboard filled with stale cake. It was probably just the shock of seeing her out of Muggle clothes. "And," he continued, "I'd like to announce our contribution to the European Festival of Arts in the Magical Community, which will take place in May. Hogwarts will be putting on a play." Excited whispers erupted throughout the Hall_._. Harry felt weary at the thought of a Hogwarts play. He looked over to the Ravenclaw table where Cho sat, her face set in a similar expression to his own. "The play is an original piece written by our very own staff and is titled_ The Taming of the (Blast-Ended) Skrewt_" Even from across the hall, Harry could see the reactions of the staff. Snape rolled his eyes in disdain, while Hagrid beamed with pride**. **The excited whispering stopped almost as abruptly as it had started. The expressions on his house mates' faces clearly read, _This is some sort of joke, right?_ Apparently Dumbledore was serious. He continued. "The date of auditions will be posted on our notice-board. It is the duty of Hogwarts School to go into the Festival's competition representing the schools ofBritain, so we felt it only right to hire someone to over-see the production. Unfortunately, no one on our staff seemed especially keen to take on the extra work. Nor, did it seem, was anyone in the United Kingdom willing. But I am sure you will welcome back our new Drama teacher, Miss. Delacour, when she arrives later this week. Now, let us eat." 

Harry looked over to Ron and laughed. At the words "Miss Delacour", Ron had become pale. He now sat completely still, staring off into space, which, considering the feast has just appeared on the tables, was nothing short of a miracle.

"Ron? Are you all right?" asked Hermione anxiously. It seemed to take Ron an enormous amount of effort to respond. 

"Yeah, sure," he said, still a little dazed. "I'm fine." He scooped large quantities of food from the platters onto his plate, then shovelled it into his mouth at a pace Harry thought not humanly possible. Harry looked around the Hall, spearing a roast potato with his fork. There were fewer first years than usual, though he could not imagine why. Harry couldn't think of any safer place than Hogwarts, with Dumbledore, despite the hiccups over the years.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked up to Gryffindor Tower after the feast, all three smelling faintly of rice pudding. Harry remarked, "You know, Professor Figg used to be my neighbour, back at the Dursley's." Hermione yawned and nodded; Ron was too tired to comment. Finally safe in his familiar four-poster bed, he felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. He knew that as soon as he closed his eyes, the nightmares would come. He knew that sometime that week, he would have to face Snape (and his alarmingly yellow teeth and greasy hair). Despite this, he couldn't help but feel that once again he was at Hogwarts - at home.

***

The next morning, there was a large crowd gathered round the notice-board in the Great Hall, pushing and shoving to get a good look. Ron, who had again shot up over the summer, looked over the crowd and informed his-not-so-tall friends of what was going on. 

"It's just a timetable for the play, there's something for you, too, Harry. A Quidditch message from Angelina." 

Harry stood on his toes to try and see over the mass of people. He managed to read, "Gryffindor Quidditch Practice" before he was shoved out of the way. "Never mind," Harry said as he Hermione and Ron made their way to the Gryffindor table. "I'll just ask Angelina later." 

Angelina Johnson had been elected Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain on the Hogwarts Express by the other team members. 

The rest of the day passed in relative normality. Harry noticed Lavender and Parvati doing short monologues throughout the day and then critiquing each other. He surmised that they would be trying out for the play. Although he wasn't quite sure why anyone would want to be associated with _The Taming of the (Blast-Ended) Skrewt_. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione wandered back to the common room after classes. They had just sat down when Hermione suddenly said, "I wouldn't mind being in the play." Harry and Ron turned to gape at her. "What? I could do with something to put on my CV. When you apply for a job, it looks good." Harry mouthed soundlessly at her. Ron muttered to himself. Hermione picked up a few phrases, though, including 'only in fifth year', 'with our O.W.L.s to worry about', and 'raving loony.' "Oh, come now," she insisted. "It can't be that bad, can it? And it should be fun, in a way..." She trailed off at Ron's expression..

"Well, good luck, then," Harry said, still staring at her in a bemused sort of way.

'Thanks, Harry." She turned to Ron, who was shaking his head. "Yeah, good luck, Hermione." She smiled at Ron, then went up the stairs to the girl's dorms.

***

Harry looked out at the vast Quidditch field and felt keen anticipation. He looked down at the neatly trimmed grass. (And he was back to last year, standing with the other champions while Ludo Bagman explained the third task to them. He and Cedric scrutinising the little hedges that adorned their beloved Quidditch pitch. 

__

"Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?" said Ludo Bagman. 

"Maze," grunted Viktor Krum. 

He forced the memory back and it faded.) It was the first Quidditch practice of the school year, and despite all appearances, Harry was extremely nervous. What if over the course of a year he'd forgotten how to play? What if he wasn't good at Quidditch at all and it was just some 3 year fluke that had now dried up? He looked at the rest of the Gryffindor team, fighting to calm down and be rational. To the left of the team, he could see some other Gryffindors waiting to try out. Between Colin Creevey and Natalie McDonald, he could just make out Ginny's signature red hair.

"All right, then. Gather round, everyone. We may not have Oliver this year but that doesn't mean we can't win the Cup. We've done it before and we can do it again. However, we need to pick a keeper that's right if we're going to do this. Ok?" The whole team nodded at her words and Angelina smiled back at them. The people trying out were each given a couple of minutes to show their keeping skills as Alicia, Angelina and Katie aimed the Quaffle past them into the hoops. As Ginny was about to kick off Harry stopped himself from saying 'good luck,' lest she should become a flying accident. The rest of the trials went reasonably well, there were some good sixth year players and Colin showed promise but Angelina told them to think about it overnight so that they could come to a decision the next day. "Try to keep in mind," she said, "that we're not just looking for a player who's good but a player who has the potential to be great." Harry didn't think he'd seen George and Fred laugh so much.

Ron had known Hermione for a few years, they had had their differences, their minor arguments and the odd full-scale battle but overall they were good friends. He liked to think that as a friend he knew quite a bit about her so when she told him she was trying out for the play it had been beyond him that this could be the Hermione he knew. After spending some time mulling it over, he reasoned that it wasn't such a big thing, just a Festival of Arts. Thinking of ways to improve your CV while in school was a reasonably Hermione-like thing to do. He could understand, he could wish her luck, if she wanted she could ask him to watch her audition and he would happily oblige. However, he _would not_ audition with her. She could beg, she could plead, but it would be to no avail.

"Oh, come on Ron! I'm not the only one who needs something for my CV. Besides, I know you hate studying, it'll give you an excuse not to work towards your OWLs." Ron was struck momentarily speechless. 

"Are you saying I use this play to get out of doing work? Because if you are then I'm afraid I can't believe you're 'mione!" He said, a look of amazement upon his face.

"Fleur's teaching it," she stated simply. It was true, Ron couldn't argue with such a fact.

"But you're already a Prefect, surely that counts for something!" He said, desperation creeping into his voice.

"It's not the same though is it Ron? They choose those things based on marks anyway," she countered, a pleading expression on her face.

"What about Ginny?" He asked, looking around the common room for his little sister. 

"I've already asked her and she's trying out for the Quidditch team anyway," Hermione said sulkily. The colour drained from Ron's face.

"What?" He exploded, "I know she was thinking about trying out but she isn't actually stupid enough...I mean to say, it's a dangerous position to play and I wouldn't want her getting hurt..." Ron trailed off at Hermione's expression, he could almost sense the feminist-rights spiel that was about to come but Hermione just shook her head and sighed in a resigned way. She picked up her books and walked away towards the girls dorms, a small piece of parchment dislodging itself from one of her books. Ron picked it up, took a quick glance at it and realised to his horror that it was a letter from Viktor Krum.

"Hermione! Here, you dropped this," he said, handing it over to her while pretending not to have noticed anything odd. She took it back and thanked him.

"So, you coming to the auditions then?" Ron thought about it for a moment and then with Krum's letter in mind said, "Yeah...but only 'cause its you."

It wasn't until half an hour later when he stood in the Great Hall, script in hand, reading lines in a nervous sort of stammer that it struck him Hermione could have dropped the letter on purpose.


	3. Potion

****

The Fourth Unforgivable

Disclaimer: The characters and places present in this story were created by J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Huge thankyou to Gaia30 (Linz) who beta-ed/omega-ed this.

Harry found that, despite Voldemort's resurrection, lessons continued at their usual pace. In Herbology, the fifth-years studied _Petal Poppers_, which dispersed its seeds by explosion, making it useful as a replacement for fireworks. They covered the infiltration of the Muggle world by magical creatures in History of Magic, and deflected hexes in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry frequently found himself in front of the entire classroom with Professor Figg aiming hexes at him, armed only with his wand. However, as Ron pointed out after Harry's third duel with her, she was a welcome adversary compared to You-Know-Who.

After a particularly brutal Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson (which Harry walked out of with a limp), Harry, Ron and Hermione decided to visit Hagrid. The moment the three of them had reached Hagrid's cabin, Hagrid swung the door open and Fang came bounding out, barking loudly. The bushy haired figure beamed down at them. "You'll righ' you three?" He asked before shuffling to the side and saying, "Come in, come in." They sat down at a wooden table in front of the fire while Hagrid milled about making tea. 

"Have a nice holiday, Hagrid?" asked Ron before taking a sip from one of Hagrid's large cups.

"Yeah. Me an' Olympe, we-" Hagrid stopped abruptly. 

"What?" asked Harry.

"Well, I'm not meant ter tell yeh, am I?" Harry, who was suddenly reminded of the job Dumbledore had given Hagrid over the Summer, urged him to tell. But Hagrid remained silent on the subject. "Anyway, I s'pose yeh'll be wonderin' 'bout the play." 

"We weren't going to ask, but now that you mention it…" Hermione started.

"Well, it weren't all me own work, but it were a nice change ter be able to write somethin' like tha'," Hagrid said, smiling slightly. "It were a team effort mostly, though the plot an' title were all of me own invention."

"I auditioned for it, and so did Ron," said Hermione happily.

"How 'bout you Harry?" Hagrid asked.

"He had Quidditch practice, but I'm sure there's a job on set he can do," Ron answered for him.

"Yeah, thanks Ron," Harry added. The four of them speculated about what different countries were doing for the festival for a while. Then, Fang rushed inside and Hagrid seemed to snap back to attention. 

"Well, best be gettin' up. Yer brothers are comin' round teh help with the gardenin'," said Hagrid, nodding to Ron.

"What, Fred and George? What did they do?" Ron asked, surprised that Fred and George were already in detention.

"Nothin' that I know of. Jus' bin volunteerin' teh do odd jobs and tha' for the staff," Hagrid replied, picking up the empty cups and untouched rock cakes. This baffled even Harry who had no idea what the twins were planning. 

About a week later, the results of the Quidditch tryouts were posted on the notice board. The Gryffindor team had had a difficult time choosing between Ginny and Seamus Finnegan. Angelina said that family ties would make for better teamwork, so Ginny was the best choice. The team agreed. George pointed out that he and Fred would be graduating at the end of the year, at which point Angelina told them to shut up. Ginny approached the Gryffindor table for breakfast the morning the announcement went up with a wide grin. Ron however looked distinctly glum under the concrete sky of the enchanted ceiling.

"What's wrong, Ron?" Harry asked while munching on some marmalade toast.

"Ask her," he replied, nodding towards Hermione. Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione.

"He's just being silly because he was cast into the play," she explained. Then she turned to Ron. "You should be happy you were chosen!" Ron glared at her. "Well, if you didn't want to be cast, you shouldn't have tried out," she said, buttering some toast.

Ron nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "What?" he sputtered, spraying liquid on Ginny. "'_Shouldn't have tried out?'_ I didn't think they would actually _pick_ me!" Some of the other Gryffindors were turning to watch. 

"You might turn out to be a really good actor though," she said in an encouraging tone. 

Ron frowned, "I was cast as Villager Number 3! It's hardly some amazing feat of acting!" Dean Thomas and Seamus snickered nearby, as Ginny fought down a smile. Harry, seeing his opportunity to break up the argument, asked, "What part did you get, Hermione?" 

"She's a supporting actress," said Ron, with just a hint of bitterness. Hermione gallantly fought down a smug smile. 

"Congratulations," Harry said, standing up and brushing the crumbs off his robe. "Come on, we've got Potions next." Ron and Hermione reluctantly stood and followed him down into the dungeons.

***

Harry, Ron and Hermione managed to arrive early at the classroom, and overheard Snape in a heated discussion with someone. Ron, in an imitation of Fred and George's black-mailing technique, peeked through a crack in the door, and strained to hear the conversation. He then told them, sounding disappointed, that Snape was just having trouble obtaining some ingredients from his supplier, whose ugly head floated in the fireplace. It was perhaps this which put Snape in a foul mood that day, taking eighteen house points from Gryffindor and giving thirteen to Slytherin. Neville narrowly avoided destroying his cauldron, trying to make the day's potion. "A spectacular display of what not to do," commented Snape. Harry was reminded fleetingly of the report Percy had been working on at the Ministry last summer. Maybe it was more important to monitor cauldron thickness than he'd thought.

Harry was stirring his Clarity Potion when he noticed the odd look on Hermione's face. She was staring fixedly at the ingredients on Snape's desk with a small smile. "What is it?" he asked, while adding some crushed scarab beetles to his potion. She shook her head and whispered, "I'll tell you later." 

After dinner, Harry, Ron and Hermione returned to the common room. Harry waited until Hermione had finished her diligent Arithmancy note taking before reminding her about potions class. She smiled, a small gleam in her eye as she spoke. 

"You know the ingredients Snape had on his desk? The ones that he used to demonstrate the potion for us?"Harry and Ron nodded, they had both seen the pile. "Well, they, er, correspond to the ingredients used in most love potions." 

There was a heavy silence as Harry and Ron stared wide-eyed at her. "What would Snape need a love potion for?" Harry asked, incredulous. 

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it's not like people are falling over themselves to get near him…" He trailed off at Harry's open-mouthed gape. 

"Of course, the ingredients weren't for any specific potion. It could really be anything. It's just that goblin toenails, powdered unicorn horn and water-snake scales are usually used for love potions," Hermione said hurriedly. Her eyes darted back and forth between the boys. But Harry knew she was just nervous. Hermione was one of the smartest girls in their year, if not the whole school. She wouldn't have made an accusation like that unless she thought it was true. Ron furrowed his brow and started to smile a little. "Hermione, how do you know the common ingredients in a love potion?" he asked, eyes set on her face. She went slightly pink. Harry turned towards Hermione, curious.

"Er, some of the books I borrowed from the library mention them and it just stuck. It's not like I was ever going to use them…" Harry nodded, still trying to come up with a rational explanation.

"Maybe he's making it for You-Know-Who," Ron said suddenly. 

"Yes, Ron, because the Dark Lord's next master plan is going to involve _seducing_ his enemies," said Hermione sarcastically.

"Who knows what he could use it for? You said it yourself it…" he started.

Hermione sighed. "What do you think, Harry?" she asked. Harry pondered it for a few moments. 

"Dumbledore's being more than a Headmaster this year. He's making plans. Maybe this love potion is part them," _even if it is a bit random._

"Maybe he walked past Fleur and got a full blast of her charm, I mean, we know what the effects of that can be like," Ron said, remembering with a cringe the Yule Ball of the previous year.

"So, what do we do about it?" asked Hermione. 

Harry shrugged. "What can we do?" The question hung in the air for a few moments. He thought about it, as did Ron and Hermione. _I wouldn't put it past Snape's ability to make a love potion. Why would he want to though? It could be for Fleur…But if he had been charmed by her he wouldn't be able to think straight, let alone brew a love potion. No, there must be another reason. Maybe he's doing it for money, selling it on the black market or something. _Just then an odd thought hit Harry. _I'm sitting with my two closest friends, in silence, pondering Snape's love life. _It was the kind of thought that made him want to both laugh and cry. 

"We can work this out later," said Harry. 

"What? You're saying we just sit around and wait for Snape to run about with a love potion?" Ron protested.

Hermione shot him a look. "Harry's not saying that, Ron. He's saying we deal with it later. Maybe a time when we don't have OWLs to worry about."

Ron rolled his eyes. He could tell Hermione was going to play the 'but-we-have-our-OWLs-this-year' card right up to the exams. Abruptly Hermione said, "Ron, we have to practise our lines, _remember_?" 

Ron looked slightly confused. "I don't_ have _any lines." Hermione sighed and dragged a reluctant looking Ron off to the other side of the common room. Harry pulled out a quill and inkpot from his bag. _Right, let's get this Potions homework out of the way._

By the time Harry had finished his homework the light had drained from the sky and the common room had started to empty. He scanned the faces of some of the stragglers until his eyes came to rest on Ginny. _Never did congratulate her for making the team. _He walked to the solo figure. "Homework?" he said, sitting down next to her.

Ginny looked up from her copy of _Witch Weekly_. "Not quite," she mumbled, stuffing the magazine haphazardly into her bag. 

"Oh. So, uh, what's it like being Gryffindor's new keeper?" Harry asked.

"Erm, great," she replied with a blush. She was on the verge of elaborating, when Harry noticed a kind of small sphere floating behind her shoulder. He held up a hand to stop her talking. Ginny turned around curiously. Harry couldn't tell what it was exactly as it hovered in shadow, but when Ginny jumped up and backed away, it followed her and revealed itself to be a horrible mess of red and white. For a moment Harry was lost for words. Then, it blinked. Harry took a jar of scarab beetles from his bag and in one swift movement trapped the eye. Later, Ginny told Harry what Fred and George's excuse was; they were just keeping an eye on her for Mrs Weasley. 

***

The first Quidditch match of the season was held on the third Saturday of September. Though it was Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw, Angelina insisted the Gryffindor team attend. "Got to study the enemy's technique," she'd said. Not unusually, Harry found his attention focused on Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker. He reddened slightly, when Ron nudged him a half-hour into the match, sure that he was being obvious.

"I wasn't staring! I was…observing her technique-"

"Not that - look at Snape!" Ron hissed. Harry scanned the stands until he saw Snape quietly leaving the professors' box in the stands.

"Maybe he needs to go to the loo," Harry said with a shrug, quickly dismissing a rather foul mental picture,and glad Ron wasn't paying attention to his gaze at Cho.

"Look at _Fleur_." Harry again complied, and spotted her making her way down from the stand as well.

"Maybe she's off to the toilet, too. Honestly, Ron, it's probably just a coincidence…" Harry trailed off, leaning forward to try to see through the light drizzle. They were rather far from the ground, but Harry thought Snape looked determined.

"What should we-" began Hermione.

"What _can_ we do?" Harry interrupted, anger slipping into his tone. "Follow them? Create a distraction? Kidnap Snape?" Both Hermione and Ron sat in stunned silence, Harry went back to watching the match. He sat there absently for two minutes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before he turned round anxiously and announced, "Oh, alright! I give in. Let's go follow them. "

***

Remus sat in the squashy armchair next to the fire, leafing through a dusty book and sneezing regularly.

"And you're sure it's this village he's staying in?" Sirius asked, while turning one yellow page after another.

"Positive, we just have to find out what date…" 

The two of them were looking through the complete history of the village of Ludbury, which was surprisingly complete for such a small place. ("Probably didn't have much in the way of entertainment. Passed the time by writing down what happened," remarked Sirius.). Half an hour passed in complete silence. 

"Found any mention of Mundungus yet?" Asked an increasingly bored Sirius.

"No, but the blacksmith's discovered a dead rat in his workshop and the vicar's daughter has just got married," replied Remus, giving a summary of eight pages worth of scribbles. Sirius chuckled slightly. "What's so funny?" 

"Well, according to this, a Mr. Remus Lupin has just been embraced by the locals as a hero," said Sirius, laughter growing.

Remus looked up from his book. "What?"

"The old bugger's used your name! I suppose it makes sense to use an alias, since he is meant to keep hidden, but I can't in Merlin's name see why he chose yours," Sirius said.

"Why are they calling him a hero?" Remus asked, wondering what Mundungus had got himself into.

"See for yourself," responded Sirius, passing the heavy tome to Remus.

**

Mundungus Fletcher was not an entirely honest man. It was something he accepted, and sometimes used to his advantage. He liked to think that he was at least a good man, and in the end, that was what mattered. So, he felt sick as he watched a child employed in the pub where he sat being beaten. His stomach churned, and he took a large sip of whiskey to keep the rising bile down. He was a time traveller. To act would be to change history, and possibly life as he knew it. When he had arrived, he'd had no idea of the amount of willpower it took to remain passive, ordinary, and generally boring. The temptation to become his own great-great-great-grandfather was overwhelming, but he persevered.

When the child was beaten again the next day, it was all he could do to keep his fist from connecting with the barman's jaw. The day after, the same thing happened. But two days after first witnessing this abuse, something in him snapped. He could not contain his anger any longer, watching the hypnotic and sickening rise and fall of the employer's stick hit bruised flesh. Even as his mind screamed at him that he would be altering the past, even though he knew it would blow his cover, he still could not stop himself from punching the barman (and was slightly surprised to note how strong he still was.) 

After chaos subsided, several people started to take interest in Fletcher. Who was he? Where was he from and what was he doing in Ludbury? Mundungus was reluctant to talk about himself, he knew the impact small things could make to the future. At the same time the locals could not contain their curiosity. Never in the history of Ludbury had anything so interesting happened. Mundungus, finally giving in, plucked a name at random to begin his web of lies.

"My name is Remus Lupin."

***

Harry, Ron and Hermione had been pursuing Snape, who in turn had been trailing Fleur along the corridors of Hogwarts, for five minutes when Hermione stopped, causing Ron to walk straight into her.

"What are we doing?" she asked, an odd smile on her lips.

"We're following Snape," replied Ron, gesturing to Snape's disappearing shadow. 

"But we don't even know why we're following him! We haven't got a plan, and he could turn around any second and take points for 'loitering'Not to mention that his suspicions would be roused when he sees Harry's not at the Quidditch match!"

"I'm sure we'll think of something, we always do…" Ron muttered while looking down the corridor. He made a small sound of disappointment. "Lost him." 

"Maybe it's better this way, gives us time to think," Harry supplied.

Hermione nodded. Then she said, "We did jump to conclusions, maybe we should -" 

But Hermione never got to finish her sentence, because at that moment Snape walked around the corner looking utterly vexed. Ron quickly pulled Harry and Hermione backwards, ducking into an empty classroom. Before hastily closing the door, Harry caught sight of Snape's hand. His long, thin fingers were curled around what was unmistakably a lock of Fleur's hair.

"He's got some of Fleur's hair," blurted Harry, as soon as the sound of Snape's footsteps had died down.

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "I don't believe it. I think I actually feel sorry for Snape. First the love potion, now this…"Ron continued to stare at the floor until Hermione prodded him out of his reverie.

"Snape can't be planning to use the love potion on Fleur, can he?" Harry asked, anxious to go back to thinking of Snape as a slimy git.

"Probably not. I think we've been wrong all along,"said Hermione, as she stared out of the window.

"How? If anything, it proves he's completely obsessed with her!" Ron said, so loudly that Hermione had to shush him. 

"Think about it. I saw him with love potion ingredients. Now he has Veela hair. What do love potions and Veela have in common?" Hermione waited, but there was only silence.

"They both make you feel things…that you're not supposed to feel," Ron said quietly.

"Exactly! They both hold control over feelings. I think Snape's working on a potion that does the same. Fleur's hair probably holds all kinds of magical properties." She gave a satisfied smile. 

Ron, however, didn't seem entirely convinced this time. "Fleur isn't even full Veela! Surely whatever potion Snape's making needs proper Veela hair."

"But his suppliers don't have any. Remember him talking to them the other day in the classroom?" said Harry.

"Who do you think the potion is for?" Ron asked. 

No one knew what to say. They were reluctant to delve into Snape's loyalties again, after being wrong so many times.

"Let's get out of this classroom, ok? I have a feeling the match is over," Harry said, straining his ears for the sounds of excited students. Hermione nodded and the three were soon making their way up to the common room. Harry and Ron joined the other Gryffindor boys in a rousing recap of the game, and Hermione went over her lines for the play. "Oh, Cuthbert, I love you!" she began. Later, she confessed her undying love to four other suitors. Harry tried not to laugh. In a sense, the "scarlet woman" had returned.


	4. Wall

****

The Fourth Unforgivable

Disclaimer: The characters and places present in this story were created by J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Huge thankyou to Gaia30 (Linz) who beta-ed/omega-ed this.

Harry, Hermione and Ron stepped out of Honeydukes, pockets heavy with sweets. By the time the first Hogsmeade weekend rolled around, Harry had revised with Hermione for hours on end, been to several grueling Quidditch practices, and worked his way through a load of homework.

"Did you see what they were selling on the counter? Chocolate Toads! Everyone knows they've just put Chocolate Frogs in a different wrapper and upped the price. You don't even get a free wizard card with them," Ron said passionately. Harry noted that Ron, despite his voiced disapproval, had still bought a few Chocolate Toads anyway.

"You're right, Ron. Maybe we should write to the _Daily Prophet _and see to it that this is sorted out," Hermione remarked.

"Good idea, Hermione. I'll do that, and you can make some badges," he replied, smiling at her. For a few seconds all three of them were preoccupied with eating their chocolate. Then Hermione asked, sounding slightly bemused, "Are those new robes, Ron?" Ron turned pink Harry looked to the new robes Ron was wearing. They were a bit too long for him, making him stumble every few steps.

"Er, yeah," Ron replied and then quickly added, as though changing the subject, "Want some bubble gum?" Hermione eagerly popped a piece into her mouth, and pulled open the door of The Three Broomsticks. 

Inside, the pub was bustling with activity. Harry's eyes wandered over the faces, most of them recognisable from school. He even spotted Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sinistra seated together.

"How do you think the Cannons will do this season?" Ron asked, sitting down at an empty table. The Chudley Cannons were Ron's favourite Quidditch team; what they lacked in skill they made up for with enthusiasm and an army of crazed supporters. Before Harry could open his mouth, a large _pop_ came from Hermione's direction. Harry and Ron turned to see her face covered in pink goo. Harry stifled a laugh, remembering why he'd stopped eating_ Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. _

"Come on, Harry, let's get the drinks," Ron said hastily, pulling Harry up by his robes before Hermione could say anything. They wove through the crowded tables and ordered three butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta. Trying not to spill any, Harry picked up a tankard and turned around slowly. Ron, however, was less cautious with the glasses and sloshed a load of butterbeer on the person directly behind them - Draco Malfoy. 

"Watch it, Weasley," Malfoy hissed angrily. Harry strongly suspected that, had he not been holding a tankard of butterbeer in each hand, Ron would have punched Malfoy square in the jaw. But with his hands full, and a pub packed with people to act as witnesses, Ron could do no more than frown and walk on. 

Harry followed Ron, more than glad to avoid making a scene. His relief did not last long. Harry spotted Malfoy deliberately stepping on the hem on Ron's robes, but had barely opened his mouth to shout when Ron crashed to the ground in a shower of butterbeer and expletives. Harry immediately bent down to help Ron. Ron brushed Harry's outstretched hand aside and handed him two unbroken (but empty) mugs. He was dripping butterbeer from his robes and hair. Harry stifled a laugh, hearing Malfoy and his cronies chuckling behind him.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked. He was abruptly pushed aside by Professor McGonagall, dangerously sloshing the butterbeer in his own mug.

"What is going on here?" Professor McGonagall asked, bending over Ron while some other professors tried to shoo away the gathering crowd. Ron got to his feet with a pained expression. Before Harry could even open his mouth to explain what had happened, Snape's icy voice cut in.

"Of course, it's the Potter and Weasley double act," he said, surveying the mess. Harry, knowing the futility of mentioning Malfoy's name now that Snape was there, remained silent. It didn't seem to matter to Snape that Harry had done nothing but stand and watch, that there was no way he could have been a part of it and still be holding a full tankard of butterbeer. 

"Now, let's not be hasty," said McGonagall. "We don't really know what happened." 

Ron, seeing his chance, said, "I just tripped and fell," and then added, "Nothing's broken."

"Still, I am sure you agree that such behaviour reflects badly on the school. I think detentions would serve Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter well," Snape said. A mop glided soundlessly over to them and began cleaning up the spilled drinks. It made a move to mop Ron's robes as well, but he shooed it away. For a moment it seemed that McGonagall would protest. Unbeknown to Harry and Ron, she was sometimes driven by a little seen rebellious streak in her that usually only came out when buying expired _Misfortune Cookies_ for Sibyll Trelawney's Christmas present. But the moment passed. The scene soon cleared and Harry and Ron made their way back to their table. 

"Where'd Hermione go?" asked Ron, looking around. 

"Probably trying to get the bubble gum out of her hair," replied Harry. "Is that _Dobby_ over there?" Ron followed his gaze and spotted Dobby sitting in a darkened corner, surrounded by several figures. Their robes were tatty and spoke of wizard fashion long passed. The house-elf gestured heavily in an excited manner, holding the attention of the strangers he sat with.

"It must be his day off or something," commented Ron. Still, Harry made a mental note to ask Dobby who the strangers were the next time he saw him.

Hermione reappeared then; she had managed to get rid of most of the bubble gum, but the faint smell of strawberry still lingered. "What happened to you?" she asked, staring at Ron, who was still soaked. In a slightly embarrassed tone, Ron explained.

"You have to be more careful, Ron," said Hermione patiently.

"It's not his fault Malfoy tripped him up," commented Harry without thinking. 

"Yeah, it's not my fault – what?" Hermione and Harry watched as Ron's expression turned to anger. "Why the nasty little -" 

"Well, there's no point crying over spilt butterbeer," Hermione interrupted. She took out her wand, and with the word, "Siccavi," she dried Ron's robes. "Aren't you two going to the new Quidditch supplies shop?" she asked quickly while getting up.

"I s'pose," replied Ron "Why d'you ask?" he added suspiciously. 

Hermione feigned incomprehension. "I just thought that while you ogled at brooms I could go see what's new at Dervish and Banges, then we could meet up in about twenty minutes outside the...post office?" Ron and Harry agreed, and they went their separate ways.

Displayed in the shop window were various Quidditch accessories, including some recently developed extra-sticky Keeper gloves. But the new shop wasn't much compared to diagon Alley and they quickly moved on. They reached the post office early and were surprised to see Hermione rush out.

"What were you doing in there?" asked Ron, looking bewildered.

"Honestly, Ron, what do you think?" replied Hermione hotly. 

"Couldn't you have used a school owl?" 

Hermione fiddled with her cloak pin nervously. "It was a long-haul flight," she mumbled. Harry could see the effect this had on Ron by watching his changing expression. First, there was confusion: _Who does Hermione know who lives over seas?_ Then there was realisation: _Bloody Krum! _And then, there was nothing. Harry would have expected a minor explosion (he had his pacifying voice at the ready) but Ron just muttered muttered a faint "oh", and forced himself to calm down. An awkward silence ensued as Ron's flushed cheeks returned to their normal colour.

"We should get back to the castle, it's getting dark."

***

After a few days, Sirius realised that time travelling wasn't as exciting as he'd thought it would be. He'd imagined a strong feeling of being ripped from one dimension and pushed into another. He was disappointed at the simplicity of the whole process.

Remus and Sirius had travelled back hundreds of years to the village of Ludbury, searching for Mundungus Fletcher. Their search turned out to be much easier than they'd anticipated. The local people talked of nothing but the hero in their midst. There was even talk of building a statue of Mr. "Lupin" in the village square.

"Um, my name is, er, Sirius Lupin! And this is my friend James Black," replied Remus, unable to use his real name.

The local man's face lit up. "You're not a relative of Mr. Remus Lupin, are you?" The excitement in his eyes showed how much Mundungus had affected the small village.

"I suppose you could say that," replied Remus uneasily.

"Of course he's related to him, he's his brother!" said Sirius, a little too loudly. Curious passers-by stopped what they were doing to crowd around them. Remus wondered in annoyance how Sirius managed to stay incognito while on the run from the ministry. 

Although Sirius thought his teasing was harmless at the time, when a spell later revealed that Remus and Mundungus were not related at all and Remus was thrown in jail for the Ludbury equivalent of fraud, Sirius reasoned that perhaps it had not been one of his finer moments.

***

Harry and Ron spent Monday afternoon serving detention in the Potions dungeon. The room was a mess. Even in the dim light, they could tell that every crack and crevice needed scrubbing. It was almost as if Snape had spent the day urging his classes to spill their armadillo bile and step on fallen bits of dried wood lice.

"Best get to it, then," said Harry, handing Ron a sponge. They had been given strict instructions that no magic was to be used to help in cleaning up. Snape had even confiscated their wands for good measure. The grime covered everything and stuck unpleasantly. "How's the nasty git expect us to get this stuff off?" Ron said, having spent 10 minutes trying to remove the same stain from a desk. Finally, with a sigh, he immersed his sponge in _Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover_ and walked over to Snape's desk. 

Slowly, the two managed to finish the job and left the classroom.

"Should we go find Hermione?" asked Harry, as they walked down the corridor.

"The word 'find' makes it seem as though we'd have to look," replied Ron, heading straight to the library.

After dragging Hermione from her beloved books, the three of them started towards the common room. Ron was telling Harry why the Cannons were sure to win the Quidditch league that year, despite coming close to the bottom of the league three years running, when Hermione spotted a lost student. 

"I have to help him," said Hermione, adjusting her cloak.

"Why? No one helped us when we got lost in our first year," said Ron.

"I have to. I'm a Prefect," she said, pointing at her badge as if to prove it to him. She called out to the boy, and he came over with a distant expression.

"Are you lost?" He shook his head. "You know you're supposed to be in uniform," she said, in the kind of voice Mrs. Weasley used to tell Ron his homework needed doing. The boy looked down at the floor as if he wasn't really listening. Light from a charmed chandelier in the hallway made shadows dance across his face. His expression seemed menacing, in sharp contrast to his youthful demeanor. His eyes wandered until he suddenly looked towards them.

"I can read palms," he said, looking at them intently, as if his words had deep meaning. Harry was slightly puzzled. Only third years and above studied Divination, and very few people could actually put their lessons into practice. "I can read yours if you like," he offered, beckoning toward Hermione. She looked at Harry and Ron, who only returned her confused glance, before giving him her hand. He examined it closely, gradually bringing her hand closer to him, running his fingers along the lines on her palm. 

Abruptly, he bit down hard on her fingers, let go of her hand, and sprinted down the corridor. Hermione yelped in pain, cradling her hand with the other. As the boy continued to run, Harry realised that Snape had never returned his wand. Ron chased the boy, but even with his long strides the boy outran him, pelting at an abnormal pace. Ron stopped at the end of the hallway and returned to Harry and Hermione, panting.

"What in Merlin's name was that about?" cried Ron. 

Hermione pulled out her wand and muttered, "Neospori", to disinfect the bite mark.

She shrugged. "No idea, but by the look of it, that boy's got teeth like razor blades."

***

Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the next few days searching for the mysterious boy to no avail. No one seemed to know him and no one had even seen him around the school. Finally, on their way to lessons after lunch, he showed up in the corridor. "Come on, we've got to catch him," said Harry, tearing down the hall, dodging bewildered students.

"But, Harry, we'll be late for History of Magic," Hermione whispered as they followed the boy down the twisting corridors. As Ron crept down a few steps he stumbled over his robes, and the boy spun around to face them. 

They were now in an unfamiliar part of the castle, and the boy smiled as if fully aware of this. Then, without warning, he shot down a hallway to their left. Ron tore away shouting, and Harry and Hermione started after him, dropping their heavy bags as they went. They chased the boy for several heart-pounding minutes, the gap between them closing and widening as they went. Sometimes, they were so far behind, all they had to guide them was the sound of pounding footsteps. Other times, they were so close, Harry felt as if he could reach out and grab onto the boy's ragged shirt. The small boy lead them right, left, then left again, down a flight of stairs and ran...straight through a wall. 

Ron stopped, gasping for breath, and leaned against the left wall. Harry felt dizzy, tired, lost, and confused all at once. Hermione bent over, massaging the stitch in her side. "Where'd...he...go?" asked Harry, between mouthfuls of air.

"He was here, and then he wasn't," replied Ron, unable to shake the feeling that they were part of some elaborate Slytherin plot. Hermione examined the wall silently. "Think he was a ghost?" offered Ron. "No, guess not. Ghosts don't bite."

"What if it's like the barrier to Platform 9 ¾?" said Harry, thoughtfully, feeling that it was less likely he was going to fall over now that his head had stopped spinning.

"Must be!" said Ron, ready to follow the small boy's path through the wall.

"Hang on a minute. This could be a trap," said Hermione, grabbing hold of Ron's arm. "We have no way of telling what's behind this wall."

"But it can't be anything dangerous, or he wouldn't have gone in," reasoned Ron. He too examined the wall.

"I don't like this. It's just…not right…" remarked Hermione.

"Look, there's only one way to find out what's on the other side of this wall," Ron said.

"I'll go first," said Harry, but Hermione stopped him.

"No, it's best we go together," she said, taking her wand from her pocket. Harry and Ron followed suit and held their wands up to the wall. Harry thought it would look very odd to anyone walking past: three fifth years, wands at the ready, staring intently at a nondescript wall when they should have been in class. 

On three, then. "One." Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Two." They were curious, but determined. "Three." His stomach lurched.

The three of them stepped through the wall, prepared to face whatever they found on the other side, be it a Dementor or an angry seven-foot kitten. They had no chance to act, though. Harry caught just a glimpse of a wooden desk and a hooded figure before a powerful light filled the room, blinding him.


	5. Light

****

The Fourth Unforgivable

Disclaimer: The characters and places present in this story were created by J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Huge thankyou to Gaia30 (Linz) who beta-ed/omega-ed this.

As Harry stirred, he noticed that he still had his glasses on. Stretching slowly, he tried to remember why he hadn't taken them off before going to bed. He lifted one arm up into the air, stretching it with a satisfying _crack_. He began to do the same with his other arm, but stopped suddenly as a strange thought struck him. _I'm still wearing my glasses. What if I didn't go to sleep at _all _last night? _The last thing he remembered was a blinding light. Images – memories – trickled into his mind. Standing with Ron and Hermione, wands at the ready. Stepping through the stone, a dazzling light, and then... nothing.

Harry scoured his mind for something to fill in the gaps, but was met with only stubborn question marks and a blackness that refused to lift. Harry was now fully awake, his neck stiff from lying awkwardly, and the air around him was cool and damp. He opened his eyes hesitantly, wondering about the small boy they had chased into these alien surroundings. To his surprise, the first thing he saw was garish, flowered wallpaper. The light-coloured wooden planks beneath him were polished to a sheen. He turned his head slightly to the right, and pain shot up his neck. After keeping still for a few moments, he again tried to move. The room was small, with a high ceiling. To his right, Ron and Hermione slept soundlessly, except for an occasional murmur. Harry tried to examine his surroundings, wondering where he was, but the room was empty apart from a small wooden table near the opposite wall with an odd-looking lamp resting on it.

He reached out and shook Ron's shoulder. "Ron? Ron? Wake up," he whispered. Ron snorted and rolled over, mumbling. Harry was about to poke Ron firmly in the back when he heard approaching footsteps. He quickly turned his back on Ron and faced the door, reaching into his pocket to feel for his wand as he did so. The door creaked open and Harry feigned sleep.

"...You understand that this could… _ruin_ me. No one can know." Harry didn't recognise the voice, but thought something in the nasal, slightly annoying tone sounded familiar. "The… the risks I took to get this were-" The man stopped abruptly, as though the person he was talking to had held up a hand.

"I can assure you that I have gone to great lengths to keep our meeting clandestine-"

"-but it didn't stop them from finding us, did it?" the man angrily interrupted.

"There is very little that can be kept from the prying eyes of Mr. Potter." Harry had become so accustomed to hearing Snape spit out his name, as though he were something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe, that it was difficult to take offense from it anymore. Difficult, but not impossible. "Although that wretched boy of yours was partly to blame. Gilbert, why don't you rid yourself of him? You know the consequences of employing their kind."

Harry listened carefully at the mention of the boy; the conversation had turned out to be far more intriguing than he could have predicted.

"The matter isn't up for discussion, Severus," said Gilbert. There was a pause. "Here, it's yours. I never want to see it again." Harry heard someone riffling through a book. Careful to remain unnoticed, Harry watched from between his lashes as something fell from the pages and landed on the floor near him. Slowly and silently, Harry pocketed the strip of tasseled leather. He watched one of the men leave. He guessed that it was Gilbert who had gone, as Harry was almost certain Snape's wardrobe was solely black. If he owned a single coloured robe, Harry doubted it would be salmon. A small click sounded, like the flicking of a switch. As the room was again flooded with the familiar bright light, Harry wondered if he'd manage to avoid passing out this time.

***

Sirius turned to the page he wanted, checked that no one was watching, and quickly ripped it from the new book. Not a single person glanced in his direction; Sirius wondered whether everyone in the library really was as dead as they looked. He took out a piece of parchment, dipped his worn-out quill into some ink, and began to write.

He had found it difficult to reach Fletcher through the thick crowds of people that huddled round the local hero wherever he went. Sirius wondered if Mundungus had taken to the idea of being adored, and was ignoring him on purpose. Even if he were, it would do no good. It was Mundungus's scheme that had everyone running around frantically, trying to get things done in time, so he had to come back and finish it off. Not only that, but Remus was still in jail, even after Sirius had tried almost everything to get him out. _And to think, I used to consider myself a jailbreak expert._

Sirius circled something on the torn-out page, then folded it up with the letter. He sealed it in an envelope addressed to "Mr. Fletcher", muttering, "I hope this convinces the bloody Slytherin."

No one in the library missed the ripped-out lunar calendar.

***

Harry was very confused. He'd awoken in his bed, back in Gryffindor Tower, with no sign of the mysterious room anywhere. _Great. Why'd I wake up in bed this time? What happened to that room? Where'd Snape go? Surprised he's not yelling at us for missing lessons yesterday. I have to find him and ask about that boy -- and Gilbert._ He searched for an explanation. The only possibility was that Snape had put him back in bed, but surely Snape would have known that he'd remember. As Harry climbed out of bed, he thought more carefully. Now that Snape had disappeared, the only way to question the previous night would be to bring it up himself. Harry was keen to avoid admitting to missed lessons; Snape was always in the mood for a good detention. Snape probably wouldn't listen to him now anyway, whereas if he had still been in a hidden room that shouldn't have existed, Snape would have been forced to give some answers. Harry sighed, seeing Snape's logic. At least he could count on Professor Binns not noticing his absence from a lesson.

Harry half-remembered dropping his bag and cringed at the thought of having to find it again. He looked around the quiet room. Everyone else was enjoying a Saturday lie-in. He glanced at his Chudley Cannons calendar, where Benjamin Bruiser waved at him. He guessed it was the Beater's birthday. Harry was just turning around when Benjamin began waving more frantically, and pointed to something written in his square. Harry leaned closer and noticed he had written something there, obviously not wanting to forget it. _G-R? What does that mean? _He stood there thinking about it for a few moments until it hit him. He leaped out of bed, ran to his trunk, and snatched out his Firebolt. Rapidly dressing, he hoped Angelina wouldn't hurt him _too_ badly for being late for the Gryffindor v. Ravenclaw Quidditch match.

***

As Angelina paced in front of them, Harry decided that it must be the badge. The little scarlet pin, with gold letters that proclaimed, "Captain." It gave Angelina a glow, a puff of pride, and an unspoken power. It was so effective that Harry thought it might even make Neville Longbottom look like an authority figure. It also had a tendency to make Quidditch captains a bit... obsessive.

The Gryffindor House Quidditch team sat on the changing room benches, waiting for Angelina's instructions. She stopped pacing abruptly and turned to face them.

"Okay, team. Before we go out there, let's just make one thing clear: we are going to win. We deserve to win. We have the skill, talent and teamwork to pull it off, and at the end of the year we should - no, we _will_ - win the Inter-House Quidditch Cup. This is not a test of strength, it is a test of endurance. All that stands between us and the trophy is a few matches, and I will _not_ let the other houses get in our way. Ravenclaw may be smarter than us, and in some cases, better-looking-"

"Oh, don't put yourself down," said Fred, twirling his Beating bat. Katie Bell, a Chaser, elbowed him as Angelina carried on.

"-but when we step onto that Quidditch pitch, we will who lead the game, we will set the standard and _we_ will be the victors." There was silence for a moment as the team absorbed her words. "Now, let's go out there and win this match! For Oliver!"

Harry couldn't help grinning. He could hear shouts and cries from outside and was already giddy from the joy. Some part of his mind kept saying that they hadn't won yet, but Harry knew that the thought of winning wasn't the reason he was so unbelievably happy. It was just... _Quidditch_. The invigorating game that he hadn't played for a year now stood only minutes away.

Angelina whispered quick words of advice to Ginny, and then stood at the door, ready to lead her team out. Harry heard Lee Jordan announce the Ravenclaw team one by one. It seemed to take ages, in which time Harry, itching to get out there, managed to check his broomstick for dents with the same frequency as Moaning Myrtle burst into tears. After the applause for "The lovely Ravenclaw Seeker - Cho Chang!" had died down, Lee moved on to the Gryffindors.

"And now, the last team to have won the Inter-House Quidditch Cup, the Gryffindors! Starting with arguably one of the best Chasers Hogwarts has ever seen, the newly appointed captain of the Gryffindor House Quidditch team - Angelina Johnson!" A massive cheer assaulted Harry, making it seem as though his eardrums were about to burst. "Following her are her fellow Chasers - Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet! And here, ready to pelt some Bludgers, are Beaters Fred and George Weasley! Next, _Keeping_ it in the family, it's Ginny Weasley! And finally, completing the team, star Seeker Harry Potter!"

The stands were a mass of hats and scarves, splashed with colour. As people clapped, jumped, and cheered, they created a pulsing mass of House colours : predominantly Ravenclaw blue and Gryffindor scarlet, which burned like fire on the chilly November day. Lions prowled the length of charmed banners, roaring with the crowd as the Quidditch captains shook hands. Most of the faces in the crowd were indiscernible from one another, but Harry spotted two figures that looked like Ron and Hermione underneath a banner which sported Ginny's greatly magnified face.

"All right everyone, I want a-"

"-nice clean game," recited the two captains, cutting Madame Hooch off. She nodded approvingly, set the ball crate down, and held a shiny whistle to her mouth. Its shriek was almost lost in the crowd's cheer as the crate burst open and fourteen players kicked off into the sky.

"And they're off!" shouted Lee.

Harry immediately climbed above the other players, narrowing avoiding a swift Quaffle pass. Soaring above the pitch filled him with a glorious feeling. They had been practicing for weeks, but nothing compared to the thrill of the game. After doing a quick lap around the pitch, he settled into a vantage point and began searching for the glittering Snitch. His eyes scanned the area about him methodically for shiny objects. A wristwatch. An empty crisps packet. Katie's earrings. He pushed Bludgers and the Quaffle to the back of his mind, and tried to do the same with Cho. Most Seekers had tactics to pull their opponent's mind away from the Snitch, to buy themselves some time, but Cho needed none. She was a distraction by herself. Cho caught his eye and he hastily looked away. He wondered if, from halfway across the pitch, she could see him blushing.

Harry regained his concentration, passing his eyes over and around zooming players. Below him, the Ravenclaw Chasers were in top form. Their plays, though not flawlessly executed, were always beautifully planned. Harry thought it was something of a hindrance that their minds worked much faster than their brooms. It gave them a frustrated edge. Angelina was all for keeping things simple.

All three Ravenclaw Chasers advanced on Ginny in the Hawkshead Formation, but Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were there to snatch at every shot they made, like the snapping of a crocodile's jaws. As Ravenclaw Chaser Kevin Entwhistle passed to Su Li, Katie swooped in, intercepted the Quaffle, and in a complete turnaround tossed it behind her to Alicia. Alicia shot down the pitch with Angelina, Katie following a little behind. They flew up at the edge of the scoring area, over the Ravenclaw Keeper, who drew level with them in a determined manner. In a flash, Alicia dropped the Quaffle into Katie's waiting hands. She scored in an open goal. The bell chimed as the Keeper spun in frustration.

"10-0 to Gryffindor!" boomed Lee's voice, lifting a magnitude of Gryffindors to their feet. Scarlet scarves and pennants were still waving when the Ravenclaws tied the score a few minutes later.

From then on, the pace of the game left the players little time to breathe. Each attack was countered almost immediately. Like a circle, there was no beginning or end, and the Quaffle was never still. Fred and George had to fly from opposite ends of the pitch to send Bludgers at the Ravenclaw team. It seemed to Harry that the Ravenclaw Beaters were concentrating on Ginny, who could barely keep an eye on the Quaffle while dodging Bludgers. Harry could almost hear Ron cursing the day the Ravenclaw Beaters were born.

"The Quaffle goes to Li. She passes to Ackerley, who sends the Quaffle flying to - oh, a lovely interception by Johnson. Johnson makes her way down the pitch, sends the ball to Bell who passes to Spinnet and - ouch, that Bludger came out of nowhere. But the Gryffindor girls have picked up smoothly and are still going for it, the Ravenclaw Chasers are too far behind to catch them up now, this might be an easy score, they're flying straight for the goal hoops, Spinnet shoots, and YE- oh, a lucky save by Davies. What a fluke.

"Entwhistle's got the ball now - Li - Ackerley - back to Li. Oh, and she's dropped it! Got to keep your concentration in this game. Spinnet takes the ball - it's Johnson - Spinnet again - Bell, and the ball just slips. Completely understandable, just misjudged there a bit. Li picks up the Quaffle. Su Li is of course one of the rising stars in the Ravenclaw team, but is she good enough to take on the Gryffindors? Oh, and a _very_ violent throw by Li. I'm not sure where that was aimed; it seemed to be coming straight for the stands!" 

Harry pulled his eyes off the game and cautiously glanced at Cho. His heart skipped a beat as he realised she was staring hard at a spot on the pitch. _Does she see the Snitch?_ He followed her gaze to the Ravenclaw goal hoops, but the gold winged ball was nowhere to be found. Then he noticed an amused smile on her face. He looked towards the Ravenclaw Keeper and couldn't believe what he saw. Roger was making faces at Cho. Harry rolled his eyes - then froze and rolled them halfway back. There it hovered, the golden Snitch. He didn't dare take his eyes off of it, even though he was desperate to know if Cho had seen it as well.

In a flash, Harry tore after the glint of gold, flattening himself against his broom, his arm already outstretched. Cho snapped to attention, but was too far behind to gain on him. He could see it clearly now; everything else just faded away. The Snitch was vibrating fiercely as it hovered. Harry recognised the curious movement as the crowd cheered him on and chanted his name. It furiously darted back and forth, which meant it would soon tear off in a random direction. Harry leaned even farther into his broom, gripped his Firebolt tightly, and set his mind on winning.

Two Bludgers hurtled towards him from across the pitch. _Great. The Snitch is going to zoom away, and I'm going to get battered in the process._ He ignored it, remembering that this game was for Wood's sake, and that Wood would not take personal safety as an excuse.

He was closing in. The Snitch was quivering as if it was about to explode. The cheers from the crowd grew louder and louder. Surely he would make it in time, he had to. Just as he finally got his hand close enough to snatch the Snitch, it shot away. 

Harry's hand held nothing but air. He hovered there in a terrible anti-climax for a few milliseconds, gaping in shock. Suddenly, one fierce Bludger collided with the Snitch, knocking it into his hand. He closed his hand around it by reflex, taken completely unawares. He sat dazed for a moment, then punched the air with his closed fist, which sent an uproar through the crowd. He had no time to bask in the glory - the second Bludger whooshed in and connected with a prodigious thud.


	6. Sleep

****

The Fourth Unforgivable

Disclaimer: The characters and places present in this story were created by J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Huge thankyou to Gaia30 (Linz) who beta-ed/omega-ed this.

After the match, the common room was filled with Gryffindor cheer. While Fred and George lifted Angelina onto their shoulders, Harry sneaked out with Ron and Hermione so that they could talk about the previous night and find their bags.

As they walked down a corridor that he thought he'd seen before, Harry told them about Snape and Gilbert and what they had missed while asleep. Then he remembered the bookmark. He pulled it from his pocket. "This fell out of the book, but I don't think they noticed." Hermione took it from him and looked closely at it. It was all black, with an unrecognizable emblem at the top.

"What do you think the symbol stands for?" asked Ron.

"I'm not sure. I can find out, though. I just need some time to research it," Hermione replied. She turned to Harry. "What did Snape say about the boy?"

"He said it wasn't good employing 'their kind'-" Harry started.

"I knew it! He _isn't_ human," Ron announced triumphantly.

"What? What makes you think that? Maybe Snape just meant child labour or something," said Hermione.

Ron snorted. "I've heard Percy drone on and on about it. Loads of vampires work for upper-class families now. Keeping themselves safe from all the vampire-hunters while getting some money to buy blood. I bet he's been playing the messenger between Snape and what's-his-name."

"Gilbert," supplied Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron, seeming pleased with his theory.

"I suppose it makes sense," said Hermione, looking at the finger the boy had bitten. "I just wish we knew what book it was and why that man - Gilbert - was so nervous about handing it over. It might have something to do with that potion Snape was making, like instructions on how to brew it." 

Harry had almost forgotten the hullabaloo over the "love potion". It still puzzled him. The trio rounded a corner and discovered their bags lying abandoned on the floor.

"We could try and find the secret room again," suggested Harry, wishing he still had the Marauder's Map, and wondering if the room was charted on it. 

"Nah, we have to go to rehearsal. I don't think we'd find it again, anyway," said Ron. Hermione and Ron departed hastily, to avoid angering Fleur. Harry thought about searching for the secret room alone, but reasoned that it would be too easy to get lost in the labyrinth of Hogwarts.

Harry was walking back to the common room, rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder where the Bludger had hit him, when he was interrupted by a voice.

"Just the boy I was looking for!" 

Harry spun round to see a man walking towards him. The man was smiling as though they knew each other, but Harry couldn't tell if he recognized _him_ or "the famous Harry Potter". 

He must have noticed the curiosity in Harry's expression, because he promptly introduced himself. "Mundungus Fletcher," he said, shaking Harry's hand violently. The light picked up the silver strands of hair that framed his face, making him seem slightly ethereal. The effect was ruined, though, by the smell of whisky on his breath. "I'm here to see Dumbledore on official business, but your godfather wanted me to give you this," he said, handing over a letter.

"Oh, er, thanks. How do you know S- my godfather?" asked Harry. He couldn't help noticing the letter also smelled faintly of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. 

"We go back to before your time," Fletcher replied, still grinning. "But maybe I'll tell you someday. For now, just think of us as old acquaintances." He grabbed Harry's hand for one last shake, then walked off towards Dumbledore's office. Harry looked at the envelope, saw his name in Sirius' familiar messy scrawl, and found it hard to doubt Fletcher's sincerity.

Harry rushed back to the Gryffindor Tower, eager to read Sirius' letter. It had been a long time since he had last received one from Sirius, and whenever Harry tried owling him, Hedwig came back days later, still clutching his letter, despite having always managed to deliver the letters before. The boys' dorm was empty when Harry arrived. He guessed that the other fifth-years were either eating an early lunch or getting started on homework. He opened the letter and began to read.

__

Dear Harry,

The job Dumbledore gave me is taking longer than I expected, but I should be back before Christmas. I just wanted to write to say be careful. There's been an attack on a well known wizard family. It looks like it was just a raid, because no one was hurt, and the Ministry has done a good job of keeping it quiet, but people are starting to believe that Voldemort is back. It's important that as many as possible are prepared before his next move. Keep your guard up, Harry.

Sirius

P.S. Remus says hello.

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed. An attack. It was weird thinking about Voldemort directly after so many months of pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind. Harry had almost forgotten him, but was now acutely aware of everything going on outside school. 

He wondered if the Death Eaters had attacked under cover of night, or arrogantly disregarded the possibility of a counterattack and raided during the day. And did they send up the Dark Mark? He tried to picture the scene, and with complete clarity saw a grand house sitting alone in the country. The door was kicked in, and through the windows he could see flames licking at the expensive furniture, and cloaked figures rummaging around desks, searching for something. The Dark Mark glistened menacingly above the house. 

There was a sudden, sharp knock at the door. Harry jumped slightly as he heard someone calling inside. He stuffed the letter inside his robes as the door flew open.

"Harry! Fancy finding you here," said George, with an I'm-planning-something smile. 

"What do you want?" asked Harry suspiciously, moving closer. Fred, George and Lee stepped just inside the door.

"How are you, Harry? Feeling okay?" said Fred, ignoring him.

"Oh, I'm fine." He waited a few seconds. "What do you want?"

"There's no point keeping it from you; we do want something. Really, we should've come straight out with it because nothing gets past you, Harry. You really can't teach that kind of perception," Fred sighed.

"We came to you because we knew you were someone we could count on," said Lee. "Because we needed something only you have. Because we caught some Slytherins snooping around the Gryffindor changing rooms. Great game, by the way."

"Spies, Harry. Filthy spies trying to beat us at Quidditch by learning our plays. Unfortunately, we were a bit late catching them. They saw a lot, Harry, and we're going to have to rethink our entire strategy," said George earnestly.

"It wouldn't be fair on us if they had an advantage, so we have to even things out. If they resort to such underhanded tactics, we have no choice but to follow suit." 

"Ah. But I don't see how I can help," replied Harry. The only way he could think of was by lending them his Invisibility Cloak, but how could they possibly know about that?

"Something of ours that you still have," said Fred, exasperated. Harry felt really dense. He was definitely missing something. He raised an eyebrow. 

"The _eye_, Harry, the eye we kept on Ginny for Mum," said George. Suddenly, Harry remembered the floating eyeball the twins had charmed to follow Ginny around school. Harry opened his trunk and pulled out a jar of scarab beetles.

"Our Speyeball. I t's been a long time since we last saw her," said Fred with a sigh. 

"Er, _Speyeball_?" said Harry, staring at the floating mess.

"Yeah, that's what we call it. This is just a prototype, but it'll do. We've charmed it so it follows who you tell it to. It should help us find out some things about the Slytherins' game plans," said Lee.

"Only, Angelina's bound to find out if _we_ use it, so we were wondering if you could instead?" said George.

"Well, I-"

"Great! Everything the eye sees comes up on this piece of parchment, and we've been working like house-elves to get sound, too. We thought we might need an ear, but the Speyeball can cope with both sound and vision. All you have to do is tap it with your wand and say, 'Show me', and then the person's name, and the Speyeball will find and follow them."

"When you want it to stop, just say, 'Sleep' and tap the parchment again," added Lee.

"We'll be back in a few days to pick it up. You can tell us what you saw then," said George. 

"Thanks, mate," said Fred, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

Harry was so preoccupied with the disgusting mass that was the Speyeball that he didn't realise they were leaving until the door slammed. _Something tells me that this is the sort of thing I'm going to regret later. But they'll be back soon, so I'd better get to it._ For a moment he considered the immorality of spying on an opponent, but the memories of all the dirty tricks Slytherin employed during Quidditch hushed his conscience. He pulled out his wand. _Wait...who am I supposed to be spying on, exactly?_ Finally, still with some uncertainty in his tone, he said, "Show me the Slytherin spy."

The Speyeball rose. It floated up and moved slowly towards the door. Harry rushed to open it, and watched the Speyeball as it glided down the staircase. He picked up the piece of parchment and followed the Speyeball's progress through the school. It was slightly fascinating, seeing and hearing parts of the school when he wasn't actually there. _Hermione's on her way back from the library... There's Parvati and Lavender giggling over _Witch Weekly_... Oh, Professor Binns must have walked through a student again..._ If he concentrated really hard on the parchment, everything around him seemed to dissolve and it was as though he were walking around Hogwarts, hearing the groan of its doors and seeing the crumbling walls, not as a relayed sensation, but for real. 

After a while, Harry wondered where the Speyeball was going. He recognised the path it was taking, because he'd walked it so many times, but the Speyeball wasn't edging its way towards the Slytherins as it was meant to; it was going to Dumbledore's office. As it approached two goblin statues, Snape appeared on the piece of parchment. All at once the Speyeball's path made sense. In retrospect, "Slytherin spy" did seem a little ambiguous. 

Harry was about to shout, "Sleep!", but what would the Speyeball do? Hover in mid-air in that same spot, where any professor could find it before Harry retrieved it? _That's no good. I don't want anyone to know I'm behind this. And Fred, George, and Lee could get in trouble as well. Maybe I should just let it keep going... Might as well keep watching. I don't have anything else to do. Besides homework._

The Speyeball stayed in the shadows most of the time. Harry guessed that it was charmed that way. He tried absently to imagine how the twins had got hold of an eyeball, but the prospects seemed gruesome. Harry dismissed most of his ideas. Surely he would have noticed if Malfoy had lost an eye.

The Speyeball hovered over Snape's shoulder as he walked into Dumbledore's office. It looked like Dumbledore was having a meeting. Harry felt guilty about eavesdropping on Dumbledore. He also felt certain that at any moment, one of the wizards would spot the Speyeball. But they all seemed preoccupied, and were mid-discussion when Snape entered. Mundungus Fletcher stood opposite Dumbledore.

"Severus, has it been confirmed?" launched Mundungus, not bothering with pleasantries.

"I am afraid so," replied Snape, less crisply than Harry expected.

"Then we have no time to waste. If you still want me to take over for her, Albus, I'll have to start straight away," said Mundungus.

"Yes, I still think that would be best. Severus, do you have any idea if the potion will work on him when he is not at full strength?" asked Dumbledore. Harry sat up, listening hard at the mention of a potion. _Work on who?_

"I see no reason why it shouldn't."

"Good, then Mundungus can replace her and keep control over him until then," said Dumbledore. His mood seemed to change slightly; he seemed happier for a moment, but his face soon resumed its solemnity. "We must be prepared for the May 20th attack, even if it means resorting to somewhat drastic measures."

Mundungus nodded in assent and moved toward the door. To Harry's surprise, the Speyeball followed Mundungus out, instead of staying with Snape. Harry's stomach dropped. _What's going on? Why is the Speyeball following Mundungus Fletcher? He's a Slytherin spy? Are the charms broken? _Harry didn't know how the Speyeball identified people; maybe it had made a mistake. But Harry was getting used to a pattern with strangers: trust, then truth, damage, and pain.

He took Sirius's letter from his robes and stared at it. _What if this isn't really from Sirius? How can I know for sure?_ He looked for clues in the wording, the handwriting, and nearly crumpled it up in frustration. There were so many different things swirling about in his mind. The potion, the overheard conversations, the "vampire" boy, Voldemort's attack, the mystery book -- and now, as if he didn't already have enough to ponder, Mundungus's loyalty. _Maybe Dumbledore has the right idea, with that Pensieve. I've got a few thoughts I wouldn't mind getting rid of._ It would leave him the space he needed to concentrate on important things, like Quidditch, and not looking like a prat in front of Cho. Then there was the terrifying prospect of OWLs at the end of year. Whispers of practice exams had nearly given Ron a heart attack.

Finally Harry came to a decision, something solid he could rely on. He would wait until Ron and Hermione came back and then tell them everything. He turned back to the parchment lying on his bed and took out his wand.

"Sleep."


End file.
